NO KARAOKE FOR ME

After a few earnest efforts, I've decided that Karaoke is a lot like weed: everyone else seems to like it, but it just doesn't do anything for me.

It comes as a surprise, considering that I like music, singing, and drinking...but somehow the odd permutation of the three that is so prevalent in Hong Kong does not jive with this guy. It works like this: you enter through a technicolor neon facade, past a cashier, down a dark questionable hallway that smacks of a renovated brothel. Off the hallway are many doors that open to small, private performance rooms that are just large enough to house a sectional sofa, big screen TV, and coffee table. (sense the brothel atmosphere?) You are assigned a room, and so your friends all pile in and they shut the door.

Sounds good? It gets better. My Hong Kong friends place the drink order: an odd concoction of Chivas Regal whiskey and green tea. Flipping through the menu screen I quickly discover that the english language selection has been reduced to such gems as "The Greatest Love of All" and "These Boots Were Made For Walkin." (to confess: I made an attempt at the latter) Although watching my friends belt out the latest Cantonese megahits was fun, the karaoke experience as a whole must be categorized as more a spectator sport than anything else. Maybe I should have made a better pre-game drinking effort... Oh well, thanks Coco for all the good times!

[Aside] To dispel the "Asian Alcohol Syndrome" myth, my three little Hong Kong female friends finished off TWO 750ml bottles of Chivas in one night! Amazing!